Page 25 of Angel
“Don’t confuse silence with strength, Angel.”
When he’s gone, I sit there staring at the desk. Realizing something that twists deep in my gut: I’ve been protecting Stevie from my fear instead of sharing it. And that ain’t protection, it's distance.
The night before the appointment, she’s quiet. She’s not shut down, just thoughtful, like she’s turning something over and over in her mind, checking it for cracks. We brush our teeth side by side in the bathroom mirror.
“You nervous?” I ask.
She nods slightly. “A little.”
“Me too.”
She pauses, toothbrush halfway to her mouth.
“Really?” I meet her eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah. Terrified.”
That earns me a small smile. “That actually helps.”
We climb into bed. She presses her forehead to my chest, listening to my heartbeat like she used to when things were simpler.
“What if I say the wrong thing?” she murmurs.
“There ain’t a wrong thing,” I say. “Just honest.”
She goes quiet. Then, softer, “What if honest hurts?”
I kiss the top of her head. “Then we deal with it together.”
That’s the promise I should’ve made a long time ago.
The office smells like citrus and something clean enough to make me uncomfortable. The kind of place where people speak softly and don’t swear. I keep my hands on my knees to stop them from fidgeting. Stevie’s leg brushes mine on the couch. Small contact, just enough to ground me.
The therapist, Carina, has kind eyes and a calm voice that doesn’t rush. She doesn’t look at me like I’m a problem to solve or a man to be fixed. That throws me off more than anything.
“So,” she says gently, settling into her chair. “What brings you in today?”
Stevie’s fingers tighten in mine. I take a breath.
“I don’t know how to help the woman I love,” I say. “And I’m scared that if I keep doin’ what I’ve always done, I’ll lose her.”
Carina nods. “That’s a brave place to start.”
Brave.No one’s called me that in a long time for anything that didn’t involve fists or fire. Stevie speaks next. Her voice shakes at first. But she doesn’t stop. She talks about the losses, about the fear, and about how her body feels like a battlefield she can’t retreat from.
She talks about control. About charts and apps and the terror of letting go. I listen. Really listen for what feels like the first time. And somewhere in the middle of it, something clicks.
I’ve been hearing her words all along, but I haven’t been hearing her. When it’s my turn again, the truth comes out rough and unpolished.
“I feel useless,” I say. “Like I’m failin’ her. And every time I see her hurt, it reminds me there’s shit I can’t protect her from.”
Carina leans forward slightly.
“What happens when you feel that way?”
“I shut down,” I admit. “Get quiet. Try to be strong.”
Stevie squeezes my hand. “That’s when I feel alone.”
